


everything you do is full of flowers

by robel



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robel/pseuds/robel
Summary: Ernst's lips are on Hanschen's, Hanschen's lips are on Ernst's, and the crushed forget-me-nots grasped in Ernst's frail hand crumble and fall over their clammy fingers.
Relationships: Hanschen Rilow/Ernst Robel
Comments: 15
Kudos: 63





	everything you do is full of flowers

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in a sudden burst of inspiration and a need of soft Hanschen. hope you like it!! (title is from Pablo Neruda "Sonnet XXXIV")

A fresh drop of dew, the soft brush of a petal against your cheek; a spill of red paint.

Ernst's lips are on Hanschen's, Hanschen's lips are on Ernst's, and the crushed forget-me-nots grasped in Ernst's frail hand crumble and fall over their clammy fingers.

They heat and melt into each other like second nature, yet stay strong and solid. Ernst is tense, nervous; he claims to not have done this before, though Hanschen feels enraptured by the charm of a deceiver. Surely, this isn't the first time Ernst has kissed. The brush of his mouth is so fragile, so delicate, as if he worships something precious, something worth the reverence. Beneath the softness there is a sort of persistence, and Hanschen can feel the undercurrent of excitement and passion coursing through him, seeking this thrill of lips against lips. 

Their lips together, Ernst gripping his shoulders as if afraid to let go, Hanschen's fingers cupping Ernst's cheeks with soft caresses. With his unseeming touch, Ernst keeps Hanschen from flying apart at the seams.

Hanschen doesn't want to stop, not ever, but they have to, and it's worth it, because the momentary glimpse at Ernst's flushed cheeks, plump as strawberries, the crease between his eyebrows, kiss-swollen lips made for this, is maybe the most precious sight to Hanschen. This, he thinks, is my reason.

And when Ernst opens his honey eyes, Hanschen thinks: surely he must know. Ernst must know how he holds Hanschen's heart within the cradle of his hands, how all of Hanschen's gentleness and love and care belong to him, and only him.

Ernst must be aware of how when the enamoured grin spreads across his face, it puts the sun to shame and it can only weep, while Hanschen stays safe, enveloped in the soothing radiance.

Ernst also must realise that the firm pressure of his hands running down Hanschen's chest make his knees tremble, and that the close embrace he pulls them into makes Hanschen believe in the unimaginable.

When Ernst lays his head on Hanschen's shoulder and the wispy locks tickle his chin, oh, surely he must know, that Hanschen would do anything in the world for him. He could knock down buildings, climb mountains, trek far and wide and never-ending, all of it, anything for Ernst Robel.

And when honey eyes meet blue, Hanschen's breath hitches in his chest, because he did not believe in love until he looked into Ernst's eyes, their reflection brimming with unsaid love letters and poetry, and Hanschen cannot believe that all of it is for him.


End file.
